


Not That Type Of Child

by imaginefishes



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Character Death, Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, FTM Tony, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Jarvis is Tony’s dad now, Jarvis would make a great father, Objectification, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Tony Stark, Transitioning, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginefishes/pseuds/imaginefishes
Summary: A trans! Tony Stark story.NOTE: THIS MAY TRIGGER DYSPHORIA, BE CAUTIOUS.





	Not That Type Of Child

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: Transphobia, homophobic and transphobic slurs, child abuse, alcohol abuse, gender dysphoria, death
> 
> Title is a lyric from “Silent Scream” by Anna Blue.

They were happy to see the newborn baby: happy that months of their hard work had paid off, happy that there would be an heir to the company, happy that their legacy could continue its story.

Maria cradled her child, softly cooing at her. She was going to be beautiful. She was going to excel in whatever Maria had excelled in, because she would be there to teach her. She would make a fine seamstress and a talented musician. Howard stood by, watching, forcing the tears to stay in his eyes as he looked at his baby girl. He could already see her working hard in the workshop, ready to create and prove to the world that Howard Stark’s daughter was not to be trifled with. She would become one of the best in his field, perhaps one day even surpassing him. They had already pushed these roles onto her, forcing her to fit into a mould not built for her, that she would never fill.

She was Natasha Elizabeth Stark.

(Jarvis stood in the corner of the room, looking forlornly at the scene, wishing he had a child of his own too. Maria offered to let Jarvis carry the baby, but he declined, choosing to simply look at her from afar. He wasn’t worthy of touching a Stark child.)

She was three. She had a beautiful head of curls, brown and shining in the sun, and deep, chocolate eyes nobody could resist. Wearing the dresses her mother had picked out, she looked so pretty. She was going to go far in life, Maria could feel it. Her smile was radiant, lighting up any room she was in. She brought joy wherever she went. She was perfect, but she certainly didn’t feel perfect.

(Her parents were rarely around. When they were, they would teach her how to be like them, trying to impart all the knowledge that they had. They had no time for any of her shenanigans if it wasn’t related to bettering herself and showing her worth as their child. Jarvis was always around. He would watch her every day, but he only allowed himself to do so from afar. He couldn’t risk ruining a Stark child.)

She was five. She had joined her father in the workshop to see what he did for a living. She took to his work like a fish to water. Within a few months, she had an invention to call her own, garnering copious bruises and burns in the process. Howard was so proud of her, and it was the only time in years she had seen her father smile so wide. Lights kept flashing and she kept smiling, because that was what she was taught to do.

(Behind the scenes, the house was in terrible shape. Howard was drinking again, but he hid that from the press. After all, what would happen to the company if scandals arised? Maria spent all her time in the garden, tending to her flowers. She didn’t know how to talk to her husband and the only thing she could do was garden. Jarvis would take care of the Miss more than her parents ever did, including playing with her and even feeding her. Around him, she felt loved, much more than she ever did around her parents. Around him, she felt free.)

She was eight. She had already skipped two grades in school, proving her genius to anyone who knew who she was and aweing those who didn’t. She had mastered the piano and was on to violin, and had ten clothing designs and two inventions to her name. The clothes were sold for astronomical prices, but that was fine because it was the work of a Stark. In fact, she was awarded a Nobel prize in Physics for the miniature arc reactor, a sustainable form of clean energy that swept the world of its feet. She was known as the wonder child, a part of a picture perfect family that just seemed so happy, who everyone wanted to be.

(They didn’t know what it was like to be a Stark. Her father was never home, but on the rare occasion he was, he would be drinking alcohol and offering it to her. If she refused, he would throw the glass onto the floor, hitting her in places he knew the clothes would hide. Her mother wasn’t any better. She would force her to practice her instruments for hours upon hours, and if she ever stopped she would get a rap across the knuckles. She had to be perfect. She had to be. Jarvis stood silently by each time, ready to mend her wounds once the immediate danger was gone. If no one was raising this Stark child the way they should, then he would.)

She was ten. She started to feel discomfort in her body. Was it the many scars that littered her skin? Or was it her calloused fingers that caused her to feel this way? She was confused, and all she wanted was someone to talk to, but she had no one to turn to. She was supposed to be the billionaire genius child. How could she possibly need help?

(Jarvis stood just outside of her door, waiting patiently for her to come to him with whatever troubles she had. If she had decided he was worthy enough to be a parent to her, then he would gladly take on the role.)

She was twelve. She hated herself. She had all she could possibly dream of, and yet it wasn’t enough. This was all she could possibly be, and she wasn’t enough. Enough for them. Maybe her father was right about her not being good enough. Maybe her mother was right about her not being what she thought she’d be. And maybe, it was time to talk to Jarvis, she decided, tentatively walking out into the living room where he so enjoyed to rest in.

(Jarvis was elated she would come to him. After all, she was a Stark child. As she approached him sitting in his favourite armchair reading the daily news, he lowered his arms and waited for her to speak. What he didn’t expect was for her to break down into tears, because aren’t Starks supposed to be strong? He didn’t say anything though, just comforted her with the palm of his hand on her back, waiting for her to calm down.)

They had a long talk, where Natasha sobbed as she talked and Jarvis listened carefully, trying hard not to miss out on any important bits. And they were all important. He had long knew the Starks were not very good parents, and that had left Natasha feeling lost, confused and isolated. He was the only person she could confide and trust in. After a long silence, Natasha added a sentence that Jarvis never thought he’d hear. At first he argued with Natasha, but as she kept explaining and explaining, he felt like he understood better and better. Finally, they ended their talk with a hug and a smile, a memory father and son shared.

He was Antonio Edward Stark.

He was sixteen. He hated his body, he hated how feminine it was and how many stares he caught with it. Too many to count. His parents most likely wouldn’t be too happy about this, but he was almost an adult now, and he could make his own choices. If he couldn’t change his body, he could at least change his hair. He cut it short.

(They screamed at him and called him names like “dyke”, “tranny”, “freak”, and just about every other insult they could hurl. He was used to their anger, but he never expected them to chase him out of the house, forbidding him to come back until he had realised what a stupid phase it was that he was going through. It wasn’t a phase; he knew that much. Jarvis understood, and he left with him. His parents were livid with the way their employee was acting, but it was worth it. He would risk even his life if it meant that this kid, this broken and beaten child, could possibly feel happy in his own skin.)

He was eighteen. Life hadn’t been easy for them in the streets, especially considering how he was the disowned child of the Starks. To most people, he was just a freak. To Jarvis, he was his entire world. And that showed when he procured a chest binder for Antonio, when he barely had any money left for food, let alone luxuries as such. He didn’t complain, though. He knew Jarvis placed him at the top where nothing, not even survival, could compete with.

He was twenty-one. Jarvis has died a year ago after trying to defend Antonio from bullies in the street that were roughing him up and laughing at him. He was alone now, in this world that was so hell-bent on breaking his spirit. He vowed that one day he would avenge Jarvis, that one day, he’d finally be the man he always thought he was and people would recognise him as such. But for now, he was just another lowly mechanic, trying to make a living without getting beaten up every fortnight.

Guilt started to build up in Maria and she wished she had never cast out her son. After all, he was her own flesh and blood, and he was a Stark child. She had to do something about this, and Howard could never know.

He was twenty-five. He’d finally saved enough for hormone replacement therapy, especially after his mother sent him an apology letter along with a cheque for five million dollars.

Antonio hadn’t accepted her offer. He wouldn’t forgive her, and understandably so. Maria was close to her death, she knew it. Old age crept up on her silently, like a predator stalking its prey. They barely talked about their son now, when previously he was all that occupied their minds. She couldn’t live with this. She had to do it. 

He was thirty. His old wounds had healed and he rarely got any trouble nowadays. After all, he looked and sounded like a man, the only difference was down there. And it didn’t hurt that Maria had decided to let Tony inherit her share of Stark Industries. At first he hesitated, unwilling to take from the person who had caused him so much pain before, but if she wanted reconcilement, he would forget. He wasn’t the only shareholder, but he was the biggest, and he was a Stark child. He didn’t particularly like it, but all he could do was forget.

He was forty. He now owned the entirety of Stark Industries, turning it from a weapons manufacturing company to the only name in clean energy. He had grown out some facial hair, a goatee, which had he hadn’t bothered to switch up every now and then, causing it to be branded his signature look. Every night, he lay in bed thinking. He had all he ever wanted, and yet it wasn’t the same. His promise to Jarvis was fulfilled, but what did that matter if he wasn’t there to see it? He was bigger, better, and stronger. He was a Stark, a man made of metal. He was a Stark, and he owned that name. He was a Stark, and he was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 1am feeling like absolute shit so.


End file.
